


Consolation Prize

by allofuswithwings



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Aggression, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, POV First Person, Rape, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27623731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofuswithwings/pseuds/allofuswithwings
Summary: There’s still something to be said for being the second choice.
Relationships: Dom Howard/Chris Wolstenholme
Kudos: 2





	Consolation Prize

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal/Dreamwidth. Originally posted March 2009.

I never noticed it, you know. Not before. I didn’t see it. Not at all.

Because I wasn’t looking for it, I suppose. Why would I be? So I never saw any of it.

Not until something Matt said, a few weeks ago. Some drunken, half-awkward comment at an awards after-party.

Me taking the piss at him winning yet another ‘Sexiest Male’ award. And you being ecstatic about it.

It was then he said something along the lines of “At least he doesn’t look at me like that anymore”.

For a while I had no idea what he was talking about. I was drunk, after all. Then it clicked, and I realised you _don’t_ look at him like that anymore.

Every time I looked over at you in interviews now, you weren’t watching him. Not like you used to. No more doe-eyes and enraptured expressions.

He was glad to no longer be the centre of your universe. Just friendly admiration reciprocated.

But that was when I noticed it. Those times I looked over, and you weren’t looking at him. You were looking at _me_.

Those same grey eyes fixed in my direction instead. And that same hazy intensity in their depths.

When I spoke, you’d stare at me. Even when I wasn’t speaking, your gaze would track over Matt before drawing back to me again.

It did my head in. I thought I was imagining it. I _had_ to be imagining it.

You and Matt fancied each other on and off; it was the usual joke, a given. But you never gave me a second glance. Not like that.

Not before now.

Then I couldn’t _not_ notice it. Like a car accident, or those surgery shows on telly; you know you shouldn’t look but you can’t help it.

I couldn’t help but to look back at you. I’d watch you watching me.

I don’t know if Matt ever did the same. I don’t think he really acknowledged your infatuation with him. But I’m not like him; I couldn’t ignore it.

More than anything it made me angry, indignant. You were settling for second best because you couldn’t have Matt. I was the consolation prize, and it pissed me off. How could you change your feelings so easily?

I wouldn’t let it go like Matt, wouldn’t pretend it wasn’t there.

I’d meet that grey gaze that burned with unspoken need, and accept the feelings fearlessly. Your relentless attempts to eye-fuck me from a distance I never shied away from. It was a challenge; _come on Howard, do your worst_.

And you wouldn’t give up so easily either. It went on day after day; you fixing your attentions on me a little too often, and me receiving them with brazen satisfaction.

Something had to give. Something always does.

And it was always going to be me.

The question then became when. I couldn’t have foreseen it as just another ordinary night at Matt’s studio in Italy.

You’d retreated out back earlier to take a break while Matt and I finished laying down bass and lead for a track. That’s where I found you; on the deck around the side, in the dark, when I left Matt to finish his part.

You were taking a drag from a cigarette when you spotted me, and made some comment about coming out back for a quick suck. The glint in your eye, and the way your tongue slid across your lower lip made my blood boil.

You were always flirting, teasing, pushing people like this. How dare you think you can pull that shit with me and get away with it?

I marched over to you and slapped the cigarette from your hand.

I called you a slut.

You looked shocked, and slightly confused.

But it was too late now for regrets; you shouldn’t have done what you did to me.

You tried to fight me off as I kissed you; consuming your mouth with my own, and forcing my tongue inside. But I’ve always been stronger than you, and simply pinned you back against the wall to stop you from getting away.

You cried out as my hands grabbed at you, pulling your shirt open and blatantly groping between your legs. And your protests were a lie because I could feel how hard you were under my touch.

I yanked off that ridiculous animal print belt you were wearing, and tore at the fly of your shamefully tight jeans. God, even out here at the studio, you couldn’t give it up for a minute; parading yourself around to make everyone notice you, and think about exactly what’s lingering under those clothes.

Your hands shoved at my shoulders, pulled at my hair, but I refused to let you stop me. I unbuckled my own jeans and twisted your body around, pressing your chest up against the wall. You hit it with a surprised gasp, wind knocked out of you, and I used the opportunity to pull your trousers and boxers down past your hips.

I spat into my hand and wasted no time lubing you up, before positioning myself at your opening, pushing gently against you. You struggled again, but I wrapped and strong arm around your waist, determined to keep you here.

“Oh god, Chris, please don’t,” you whimpered, panic choking your words. “Don’t do this, _please_.”

You wanted this, I knew you did, otherwise you wouldn’t have flirted with me the way you did. You wouldn’t have invited me to take you this way with those suggestive gazes and coy smiles.

I penetrated you quickly, roughly; there was no need to take this slow. You cried out painfully, loudly, squeezing your eyes shut, and I had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

With rapid, short strokes I plunged myself in and out of you, my pleasure intensifying quickly from how tight you were and how good your body felt against mine.

Each drive caused you to let out muffled, anguished moan, and I watched a tear slide down from the corner of your eye. But as the saying goes, there’s no gain without pain, and it was you that had to bear the burden this time.

Loosening my hold on you, I reached around the front to take your cock in my fist, and the cry in your throat soon softened into a groan. Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, distracted from the pain by the pleasure I was giving you, and I was sure I felt you bucking into my touch just the slightest bit.

I couldn’t stop now, all I could feel and smell was you; the sweat and heat from your skin, the squeeze of your body around my cock, and the soft scent of your cologne as I breathed hard against the back of your neck.

As my pace quickened, my hand slipped off your mouth a little, and I could hear you gasping for air, breaths rapid.

“Oh fuck, fuck, oh god.”

You murmured so quietly I barely heard you, but it was enough to confirm to me that you had been pretending; you wanted this.

“ _Dom_.”

My grip tightened on your cock, and I felt your body shuddering as I stroked you swiftly, firmly. I watched your eyes roll back, and you curled your fingers around my wrist at your face, gripping me hard.

Your orgasm hit me like a freight train, your body tensing and squeezing around me, pulling me along with it as you groaned my name. You spilled warm and wet on my fist, and my own release echoed yours as I came inside you. I drove in and out as hard as I could, riding the waves of pleasure that washed over me, revelling in the feeling of your fevered, tight body.

When it was over, you collapsed against the wall, gasping. I pulled out abruptly, making you whimper, and zipped my trousers back up. I wiped my hand down the back of your shirt, and glanced at you only briefly before heading back inside.

After that night, I thought you’d stop looking at me that way.

When I tracked my gaze over to meet yours, I expected you to turn away. To blush, be embarrassed, ashamed; of what you’d made me do.

I thought you’d be too afraid to look at me like that. In case I snapped again.

But you weren’t.

You looked the same. Same intense, grey eyes. Same hungry, longing heat in their depths.

Only this time, the sides of your mouth curled upwards in a wicked smile. As if in challenge; _come on Wolstenholme, do your worst_.

You’re such a slut.

If you keep this up, I think I might snap again.


End file.
